


Persistence of Memory

by aunttora



Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunttora/pseuds/aunttora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter where you go, there you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OG Battlestar Galactica is the fandom I go back to whenever my latest enthusiasm begins to wane...this has been on my "computer" in one form or another since it was a 386 DOS desktop. Time to put it into reasonable shape and finish it at last for crying out loud! Apologizes for any similarity to other works -- the last time I re-read some stories from some of the (sadly, few) authors in this fandom, I saw plot points in them that echo here. I realize that fanon has turned to canon sometime between 1978 and now in my aging brain, and my best ideas might actually have started out as someone else's. If any of you happen to wander by here, I hope you enjoy my take.
> 
> One final thing -- I hope I've found all the "minutes" and "years" etc., but please sing out if you catch me using the wrong word. I loved the oddness of the original show with its "yahrens" and its "felgars" and "centars" and etc. I want to get it right, but MAN is it hard to do!
> 
> Some work to do on the middle sections, but it's roughly complete so I don't expect it to take too long to get it all finalized and posted. The new Blu-Ray disks just arrived and I'm off to research the Ice Planet episode!

Thorns as long as his hand yanked at his clothes, stabbed at his body. He hadn’t heard a sound except his own sobbing for centars. He kept running deeper into the darkness until he could run no longer. He sank down onto the cold slimy ground, shivering, the burning gouges in his arms and legs the only heat anywhere in the universe. For just a micron he lay there curled on the ground and – they found him. Ships screamed overhead, laser fire blasting the ground and incinerating the trees, everything, all around him. Gods – she was…she was just _lying_ there all broken and burned…and where was _he_? “Papa…ma…”.

“Starbuck.”

“Mama! Mama!” Darkness alternated with blinding light. All he could do was run – run! Run! His little body squeezed into the thick growth – she couldn’t follow – the light – the sound – the overpowering sound! The light, pulling him in, and the _sound_ and the—

_Have faith._

“Starbuck!”

“Frack!” Someone had him by the arm and he jerked away, nearly going over the side of the bunk.

“You awake?”

“I’m awake.” He lay there breathing heavily, drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding so hard and fast it might be audible.

“That sounded like a bad one,” Boomer commented softly.

“Yeah. Sorry. Gods -- sorry.” He ran shaking hands over his face. “What time is it?”

“Four-fifty. You okay?”

“I’m okay. Thanks, buddy.”

He could hear other pilots settling. One good thing about living in close quarters with dozens of traumatized warriors – no one gave you grief about your screaming nightmares. They all had them.

As quietly as he could manage, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk and hopped down, legs only a little rubbery. He grabbed his uniform from his locker and headed for the shower room. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Cassiopeia was on third this week; he could surprise her and take her to the O.C. for a meal together before his shift started.

Staring at his haggard face in the mirror, he pondered the re-emergence of this nightmare. As a child, he’d had it nearly every night – and the other kids in the dorm had been less forgiving of sleep disturbance than were Colonial Warriors. It had been so long ago…how could he still remember the pungent odor of the undergrowth? He could almost smell it right this centon. And his mother? – but best not to think about that. It probably wasn’t even her, there’d been enough charred bodies to haunt his dreams forever visible in what was left of Umbra when he’d finally left the recovery center. Starbuck couldn’t fathom it; the last quatrons had brought plenty of fresh horror – he hadn’t revisited the ancient version for yahrens. Until the last few sectons.

Strange, though, those lights and that sound. That was new. He was pretty sure he knew where it came from – the Ship of Lights, "John" and the other beings Adama was so sure were Kobolian gods or angels. His memories of his time on their ship might be vague but he’d never forget that overwhelming, living light; the noise that had driven consciousness from his brain.

Yahrens back he’d dated a Virgon dream-analyst. He wondered what she’d have to say about his unconscious or subconscious or metaconscious or whatever mixing up memories of Umbra and the Ship of Lights -- most of her analyses of his dreams had indicated problems with intimacy. Happily for all, she’d always been willing to help him work through those problems. Personally, he figured that when you dreamed about killing Cylons, it probably meant you wanted to kill Cylons.

Why dream of Umbra now, and so vividly? Was he starting to remember? Had that encounter with John and his people somehow knocked loose the memories that had been hiding themselves so thoroughly and for so many yahrens? Truth was, he’d always kind of assumed there was a pretty good reason he’d blocked the memories. There were days he wasn’t sure he really wanted to open up that canister of squirmies at all.

In any case, Cass would be surprised and – hopefully – pleased to see him. They hadn’t had a lot of time for each other lately. When they could manage to snatch a few centars, somehow the _ease_ between them had gone. That had always been the best thing about the two of them together – no angst, no agendas, nothing hidden. These days it seemed she was holding back, and he was self-aware enough to recognize how that flipped the dynamic of most of his previous relationships. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it, if anything. He scowled into the mirror; he supposed they’d end up having to talk about it. One of the downsides of this period of relative peace – you actually had relationships that lasted long enough to need talking about.

*

Before they could launch, Boomer’s Viper had to be checked. Systems Q had signaled a fault and Vinnea wasn’t about to let her pilot go until it was nailed down. Boomer, of course, was leaning over the engine alongside her. Giles was feigning a fascination with Viper innards. Starbuck watched from his ship’s wing, swinging his legs idly and trying not to yawn.

“Keeping you up, are we?” Apollo wandered over from the callbox, where he’d gone to coordinate the delayed launch with pilots in the opposite bay.

“Just trying to estimate how many centimetrons she’s got on Giles,” Starbuck said. “I’d say…twenty.”

“Starbuck, he’s not that sh—.” At that moment Vinnea reached up to the top of the cart for a tool and Apollo cut himself off. “Well…twenty might be—“.

“Stretching it?” Starbuck offered.

Apollo rolled his eyes. “I didn’t see you in the mess this morning.”

“I went earlier, with Cass.”

“She the one keeping you from a good night’s sleep?”

Starbuck shrugged. “Not really. We haven’t been on shift together in a sectare. She’s been studying for that qualification test Salik wants her to take, anyway.” No point mentioning that their breakfast had been awkward and a little quarrelsome. She’d excused herself after only a few centons saying she wanted to get in some reading. Starbuck could almost believe she was seeing someone else, except if that were so he was sure she’d tell him. Frankly, he’d almost prefer it if she wasn’t so upfront with him. That whole business with Cain was still pretty raw, and he sure hadn’t needed to hear all about her reasoning.

Well, Starbuck _couldn’t_ alter his shift, and since his training rotation with the recruits had come up he had hardly any free time. Apparently it was too much to ask that she pull back a little on her studying, be flexible when he managed to get a free centon. Also apparently, he didn’t fully appreciate the importance of her moving from tech class four to three, or three to two, or whichever. He yawned again.

“You’ve been looking a little worse for wear,” Apollo said. “Do you need a couple days off from the recruits? Bojay’s up next – do you need me to move him up?”

“Nah, I’ve only got another two sectons. Just as soon get it over with.”

“Your primary responsibility is patrol – no one wants that to suffer for the other.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just…”. Starbuck lowered his voice. “I kind of had a bad dream last night. Woke me up. And Boomer. Probably half the wing.”

“Ah.”

“I’m fine – just waiting for the java to kick in.”

“Well, at least this should be a nice, uneventful patrol.” Every other sectare or so, the squadrons went out in half a dozen directions from the fleet, as far as Viper fuel capacity could take them, piggy-backing on each other to maintain communication. In this way they could extend the range of the Vipers and take a snapshot of what was out there. It was moderately dangerous for the furthest-out ships to be out of communication with the fleet, and the operation took the entire shift plus a couple of extra centars. However, since leaving Colonial space and its network of satellites, it was the only way to find out what was beyond _Galactica’s_ sensor reach. The added range had also alerted them to a couple of planets they would otherwise have missed, where they’d been able to stock up on fresh water and foodstuffs. No evidence of Cylon activity had been noted for some sectons and while Adama was not ready to assume anything, he had started to be a little more willing to take a detour if a planet looked promising.

*

Thanks to Boomer’s Viper, the squadron got underway a half-centare behind schedule. Six ships moved into position at roughly equal distance in an oblong shape around the fleet, the next series of Vipers straight out to the far edge of communication range from the anchor ships, continuing on to the last. The least-experienced pilots stayed closest to the fleet; even with catastrophic communication failure an experienced pilot should be able to find his or her way back to the fleet. And if Cylons were encountered, the best pilots would engage them first.

Starbuck was the furthest-out in his group, linked to Apollo, who linked to Dietra, who linked to Fritz, who linked to an agro ship at the edge of the fleet. It took several centars for them all to get into position, where they stayed for about a quarter-centare. For at least half the patrol, the only communication possible for the furthest-out pilot was their anchor link, and even that could be dicey at extreme range. It was unnerving not to hear the usual chatter, and Starbuck usually filled the channel as if to make up for the lack of other voices. This time he was mostly silent, except for routine check-ins.

After a while, Apollo commented on it. “You’re pretty quiet today,” he said. “Still there?”

“I’m here.”

Apollo wracked his brain to think of something to talk about. Normally he could count on Starbuck to pick a topic. His manner earlier warned him off the subject of Cassiopeia, and he knew perfectly well that Boxey’s latest school achievements had limited appeal. Fleet politics – both boring and inappropriate. It occurred to Apollo that perhaps he’d been spending too much time with his son and his father.

In his Viper, Starbuck reached up to the little piece of cracked dashboard on the right side. Loose items were forbidden in a Viper, for good reason, but he’d managed to wedge his good-luck coin in there sectons ago and Jenny hadn’t commented on it. He worked it out and held it in his gloved hand, turning it over and over. It was the only thing he had from Umbra, and he couldn’t even remember if it had been his before the attack or if he’d picked it up after. Before, he assumed – since he’d always thought of it as lucky. It wasn’t a cubit – it seemed to be made of pot-metal and had the faint image of a Viper stamped onto one side, something that resembled Scorpion hail pellets on the other.

“Starbuck?” Apollo’s voice. Starbuck looked up at the console.

“Frack. Sorry, Apollo.” He balanced the coin on the rim of the scanner screen. “Initiating scan…now.” He watched the monitor closely as it ran through the medium- and long-range programs. “No contact. Switching to extended-range.” In one of their earliest patrols of this type, Starbuck and Apollo had experimented with shutting down all systems except the scanners, to see if this boosted range. The gain was about 3%, to their surprise, so they’d started doing it regularly, once or twice a patrol. They already pushed their own link as far as it would go, leaving virtually no safety margin – if Tigh found out about this additional practice he would probably give birth to a litter of felixes. But it did increase the range some, and it added a just a little excitement to what was otherwise painfully boring duty.

Starbuck shut down and engaged the scanner for fifteen microns, then powered back up. By this time he was well-experienced adjusting for the temporary loss of thrust. When his systems were back on line, he toggled the communicator. “Apollo?”

“Right here, Bucko. Anything?”

“Nothing.” Starbuck bundled the latest data and saved it. Even though the scanner was clear, Dr. Wilker sometimes was able to pull something from the scans – gravitational anomalies, radiation traces. He checked his position in comparison to Apollo and made a minute adjustment.

After a centon, Apollo’s voice again. “What was it about? Your dream?”

Normally Starbuck wouldn’t have discussed a childhood nightmare over an open channel, but in this case no one but Apollo could hear, and there really wasn’t anything in his life he wouldn’t have – or hadn’t already – talked to Apollo about.

“Starbuck?”

“It was Umbra,” Starbuck said finally. “I used to have that dream all the time, when I was a kid. Even at the Academy – you remember?”

“Sure. Of course, I remember.”

“It was weird though. It started out Umbra – in the Thorn Forest, Cylons chasing me. Then it…changed.”

“How?”

“It was…it was the Ship of Lights – the Cylon lasers were the lights, and the blasts turned into that sound. Remember? It was all mixed up together.” He didn’t mention the other thing that had been strange, the idea that he had been looking for _Chameleon_ …that was just because of that con he’d tried to pull. Most likely Chameleon had never stepped foot in Umbra. Maybe not even on Caprica. “It was…it was so real. I mean, I could just smell the rotten leaves, and the ozone from the blasters. You know that scar on my arm, from where a scratch got infected? I could feel it – it was like it just happened a centon ago.”

“You said they almost amputated.”

“Yeah – the venom in those things is nasty, and they didn’t find me for cycles. I don’t even remember them finding me. I just woke up at the station a sectare later.”

“Like I woke up on the Ship of Lights,” Apollo mused.

“Well, I wasn’t _dead_ in the Thorn Forest, Apollo.”

“No, but still. I don’t remember anything about that. Do you think about it?”

“Do I think about what? You being dead?”

“No, the Ship. John. All of that.”

“I try not to,” Starbuck muttered.

“I know that we’re on the right path, I know we are. We’ve seen evidence on half a dozen worlds. I know John and his people are helping us. I wonder, though, why we have to go through all this – why didn’t they just come to us, back in the Colonies, and tell us not to trust the Cylons? Do you ever wonder about that?”

“Would we have listened? Apollo – plenty of people were against it. Plenty of people the Council listened to and trusted. It didn’t make any difference. You think if John had showed up they would have said, ‘you know – you’re right, death to Cylons’? They wanted to believe, _everyone_ wanted to believe. We just had to…we had to learn that lesson. Even people here in the fleet don’t believe what we saw. Even with the evidence we’ve had since! I don’t think John showing up would have – oh _frack_!”

“What? Starbuck, what is it?”

“Nothing, don’t worry.” Grimacing, Starbuck tried to bend down and to the side. His coin had slid off the console and bounced onto the floor. First time he hit the booster, it would be rocketed back into the delicate equipment behind him. Either it would roll into a cranny and never be found again, or more likely, it would crack some critical board and leave him stranded beyond recovery range. Not for the first time, he cursed Viper design that didn’t enclose the tronics in the back. _Rule 1: No loose items in the cockpit. Frack! Jenny’s going to_ kill _me._

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.” Apollo could probably hear his panicked breathing.

“It’s not…I just…”. He sighed. “I dropped my lucky coin.”

Apollo was silent, and Starbuck imagined he was counting. Starbuck hoped whatever number Apollo felt the need to count to was sufficiently high he could manage to retrieve the coin before he got there. But the Viper cockpit was not designed to lean a body over in, and the helmet was not designed to look down. He scooted to the left as far as he could and tried to fish the coin out with his right foot. “This would be a lot easier if I could open the hatch,” he grunted.

“Go ahead,” Apollo said acidly.

“Thanks, buddy.” His foot was getting him nowhere – the boot was too clumsy. He was just going to have to contort himself and get his hand down there. “I’m sure there’s plenty of room,” he said to himself. “I mean, Jolly fits in here.”

“Starbuck…”.

“Just hang on a centon, Apollo.”

He didn’t know how it happened. He really didn’t. He thought he could wedge his helmet between the left armrest and the fuel gauge, and use the leverage to force his right shoulder down. He stretched and his fingers brushed the floor. He blew all the air out of his lungs and twisted even further…he could feel something, lunged for it…but the _fracking_ helmet chose that very micron to slide and bash something on the console. The Viper lurched.

Starbuck sat up slowly. “Apollo?” No answer. “Apollo, I know you’re not happy with me right now, but this isn’t funny.” Utter silence. Starbuck closed his eyes a secton and prayed fervently to the Gods as he almost never did, then forced himself to look at the screens. “Oh, felgar,” he breathed. He’d hit both the thruster and the directional. He was out of communication and sensor range of his only connection to the fleet, without precise knowledge of how he’d got there.

On the upside, the coin was now held tightly in his fingers. He pushed it savagely back into the crack in the console, and for good measure ripped off a piece of sealant tape from the underdash roll, and fused it in place. First thing when he got back to the fleet he was taking that “lucky” coin to the foundry ship and melting it into slag.

Automatically his eyes strayed to the atmosphere gauge. There was plenty…but did it seem like the dial was spinning quickly? _Calm down, Bucko_. It hadn’t been a centon since he’d hit the controls. It surely was not beyond the best pilot in the fleet (he could hear Apollo’s _ha!_ at that thought, and for a micron almost believed the comm was back) to figure out what direction he was going in and therefore which he’d come from, estimate total distance traveled, adjust for Apollo’s speed (assuming Apollo stayed moving at a constant rate), and get himself back to where he should be. Apollo, knowing what Starbuck was going to have to do, wouldn’t budge a micrometron from his course Of course, at this distance, even a variance of .001 would be enough to miss Apollo completely. If he missed once, the chance of hitting on the right course with each subsequent guess became exponentially smaller. _I may be a gambler but even I wouldn’t take those odds._

No, the best chance he had was to power down, take an extended-range reading, hope like Hades he could still pick up Apollo, get a fix, and extrapolate a course from that. He hesitated though – this was all-ovums-in-one-basket time, there was no going back. Before he could talk himself out of it, he shut down and engaged the sensor. When he powered up again, what might have been microns or yahrens later, he could hardly bear to look at the readout. If he didn’t see Apollo…. But he did see Apollo.

And something else.


	2. Chapter 2

All the way back to the fleet, Apollo didn’t let up. It had been bad enough _before_ Starbuck admitted what had happened: “So, funny story, Apollo.” Not so funny, it turned out. After that – well, it made every chewing-out he’d received his entire career, collectively, fade to pleasant chat. And he’d had some volatile commanding officers.

Even when they were back in communication range of the _Galactica_ and on an open channel, right up until the micron they switched over to Ops, Apollo hardly drew a breath but to yell at him. Starbuck’s responses started with a sincere “I’m sorry”, meandered through various “you’re rights”, switched over to “yes sir” and finally stalled at sullen silence, until Apollo, icily, inquired if, among his _many_ deficits as a Colonial Warrior, was one a lack of mastery of his comms? and Starbuck was forced to keep responding for another half-centare. If Starbuck was honest with himself, he was surprised and impressed with the vocabulary, if nothing else.

Of course he knew the source of Apollo’s anger – if they’d followed regs and maintained a safety margin, he wouldn’t have lost contact; in this, Apollo felt complicit and guilty. He was overcompensating. Understandable. Didn’t make it pleasant.

Apollo landed first and stood rigid with anger beside his Viper, waiting. As he taxied toward his own landing spot, Starbuck briefly contemplated turning around and heading back out into open space. He took as much time as he reasonably could shutting down, giving Apollo a chance to head off to the Bridge without him. After a centon or two Boomer climbed up on his wing – on the opposite side to where Apollo stood glaring, Starbuck noticed.

“Good mission,” Starbuck said brightly.

Boomer was serious. “Bucko, you scared the frack out of him.”

“Boom-Boom, I scared the frack out of _myself_.”

“Word of advice? Don’t take that tone with him. Dietra said she’s never heard him lose his felgar like he did when you went dark.”

“Are you coming _Lieutenant?_ ” Apollo’s voice sounded like it might carry across the entire bay and up a couple of decks, though that was probably an acoustical impossibility.

Starbuck sighed and tapped the fused tape on the viper console. “Do me a favor – ask Jenny to dig that coin out of the dash. If the sensor log tells us what I think it’s telling us, we’re going to need all the luck we can get.” Starbuck climbed out of the cockpit and jumped down to the deck. Boomer stayed where he was, out of sight. The rest of the pilots stayed where they were, too. _Pullets._

Apollo didn’t say another word until they were alone in the lift. He could hardly meet Starbuck’s eyes. After a few microns he hit the “halt” button and turned on him. He still didn’t seem able to speak, so Starbuck started him off: “Apollo, I’m sorry. It was stupid. If one of my recruits did something like that, I’d bounce him out of the program.”

“That’s another thing!” Apollo shouted. “ _You’re_ teaching recruits? _You’re_ instructing them in the importance of following regs?”

Apparently Apollo hadn’t considered that aspect of it before. Starbuck was sorry he’d brought it up.

Now Apollo moved to stand in front of Starbuck, so close their boots almost touched. His face was flushed. He reached out and grabbed Starbuck’s jacket and shook it. He seemed to be about two microns away from slamming him against the wall. “Do you have _any idea_ what that was like for me?”

“Apollo…”.

“Do you know what I kept thinking? ‘This is exactly like Zac. I’m going to have to go back to the _Galactica_ and tell them I had to leave him behind, just like Zac.’” Starbuck dropped his eyes. “If I had to do that, it would _kill_ me. Do you understand? And this would have been a hundred times worse, because at least Zac died for something. You would have died for _nothing_. A fracking _lucky coin!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Starbuck whispered. After a centon he felt Apollo’s forehead come to rest against his.

“Don’t you fracking dare ever do anything like that again,” Apollo said.

Starbuck couldn’t ever remember hearing Apollo swear before, and he could count the times he’d heard him raise his voice on the fingers of one hand. “I know,” he said. “I know how hard it was. You couldn’t break formation; you couldn’t do anything.” Apollo’s grip on his jacket tightened, and Starbuck knew that this was the core of it. Starbuck had broken regs, Starbuck had carelessly banged his head into the console and shot his Viper Gods knew where – when he was out beyond fleet range and should have been exercising the most care…but his only chance to return was if Apollo took no action to try and find him. “I _know_.”

He put his hands over Apollo’s and squeezed gently. “I’m _sorry_ , Apollo. But maybe it wasn’t for nothing, right?”

“Don’t do it again.” Apollo said.

“I won’t.”

*

Adama’s conference table was full – in addition to the Commander: Tigh, Omega, Athena, Sheba, Boomer, Bojay, Apollo and Starbuck, Wilker with two data analysts, a handful of others. They’d had to drag in chairs from the Bridge. There was a larger conference room on the more public deck above, but Adama didn’t want word to get out any sooner than it had to – the last thing they needed now was questioning from Sire Nosy or input from Councilor Blowhard.

They’d spent centars examining the sensor trace from every angle; Starbuck’s hope that his initial impression of the data had been wrong had been almost instantly dashed. “It’s definitely a Base Star,” Wilker said.

“That’s what we thought, when the squadron transmitted it,” Tigh said. “I think we all know what this means – first, the Cylons know where we are and the route we’re taking. They’re following us on a parallel course just beyond our furthest sensor range. And that’s the second thing – they appear to know what our furthest sensor range _is_ , which implies some understanding of our strategy and limitations.”

“The route probably wasn’t hard to guess – we’ve been going in more or less a line ever since we received the directions to Earth,” Adama mused. “All they had to do was extrapolate from the contacts we’ve had with them. Or our contacts with other worlds.”

“Is there any chance it’s a coincidence?” Athena asked. “We just happened to come across a lone Base Star?”

“In my opinion, virtually none,” Tigh said, firmly. “They’re waiting out there for us, most likely for reinforcements. In fact, I think it’s fair to assume if someone on the opposite side of the fleet had done the same thing as Lieutenant Starbuck, they would have had a similar experience. The only conclusion we can draw here is that they’re shadowing us, likely bringing up reinforcements and waiting to attack until we’re surrounded. It may take some time, but they can move much faster than the fleet; I would expect an attack inside a quatron, no later than that.”

“I have to agree,” Adama said. “I think we’ve all been hopeful that the recent lack of contact with Cylons indicated we’d left them behind. We know now that’s not the case. They’re taking no chances this time.”

“Would they have picked up Starbuck?” Apollo asked.

“Doubtful,” Dr. Wilker said. “Everything we know about their sensor technology indicates it’s less sensitive than ours. And, the lieutenant was a single Viper – what he picked up is a much larger vessel, with a massive energy signature, and he _barely_ picked it up. I think it is a reasonable assumption that they aren’t aware we know they’re out there.”

“That’s something,” Adama said.

 _Not very fracking much_ , Starbuck thought to himself. So they were surrounded, or very soon would be surrounded, by multiple Base Stars. If he was Imperious Leader, he wouldn’t launch an attack until he was positive it would succeed. After all, what was the hurry? These last raggedy remnants of humanity would be out here poking along this quatron, next quatron, next yahren…. Rather than having been left behind, it seemed the Cylons were finally getting their act together and planning smart. If there was anything that could make this day worse than it already had been, well, there it was.

“Would it help to alter our course?” Omega suggested. “Zig-zag? If they’re staying out of sensor range and assuming our course, could we move aside and let them bypass us?”

“It’s probably too late for that,” Tigh said. “And even if we could, we’d have to get back on this course sooner or later.”

There was silence around the table. Everyone knew -- every day they had less in the way of resources; every day the Vipers and all their technology went further out of warranty – but if they were surrounded by Cylons in force, there was no hope anyway.

“All right,” Adama said finally. “We know what we’re up against, now we have to decide what to do about it. Apollo, I want you to repeat today’s exercise, without the out-of-control Viper,” his solemn gaze moved briefly to Starbuck. “Daily. Double up the number of Vipers if that’s what it takes – we’ll send out refueling shuttles – but be very careful not to go further than you need to. The readings from today should give you a good estimate of where to start. I want to know where they are, but I don’t want to alert them.”

“Are you going to speak with the Council?” Tigh asked.

“I’ll have to,” Adama sighed. “I’d like to see tomorrow’s data first. But that’s probably not going to be possible. It would frankly surprise me if they didn’t already know.”

Apollo lingered a bit after the rest of the group filed out; Starbuck waited for him in the hallway. Twenty centons or so later he finally appeared, grim and tired. “You don’t look like someone who’s up for a drink at the O.C.,” Starbuck said regretfully.

“No, the O.C.’s off limits until further notice.”

“I figured.”

“The Commander thinks he’s going to have to make a fleet-wide announcement.” They started walking back toward the warrior deck. “Don’t say anything, obviously, but he’s pretty discouraged. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“You’re not, uh, filling me with confidence here, buddy.”

Apollo sighed. “What do you want me to say? Yesterday I was thinking about what program to put Boxey in next yahren, now I’m wondering if there’ll even be a next yahren, for any of us.”

“Hey, Apollo – come on. Yah, things are a little different than we thought, but we’ve survived worse.”

“Have we? Worse than this?”

“Well, we don’t actually know what ‘this’ is. Let’s figure out what we’re facing, and we’ll come up with something, we always do.” Starbuck stopped, pulled on Apollo’s elbow. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen next yahren, next sectare, tomorrow. You don’t either and even the Commander doesn’t. I’ve _never_ known, since I was a kid. But I do know – letting it get you down just makes it more likely the worst will happen.”

Apollo managed a slight smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”. Apollo shook his head. “I don’t know what I am.”

“You’re exhausted. Go home, see Boxey, get some sleep.”

After leaving Apollo at the turnoff to the family wing, Starbuck lit a fumarello and allowed his own gloomy thoughts for a bit. But it just seemed impossible, to come all this way and through everything they'd had to endure, only to be crushed by the Cylons after all. There’d been plenty of times he’d thought the end had come and it still hadn’t. If he was going to keep going, he was just going to have to hang onto that.

*

Jenny was waiting for him outside the BOQ, his coin in her hand. “Captain chew your astrum much?”

“About as much as I earned,” Starbuck said ruefully.

“Starbuck, I’m sorry. I knew you had that in there; I should have made you take it out yonks ago.”

“Jenny, if I hadn’t had it with me, I never would run the scan from where I did, and we wouldn’t know what we know.”

“So it’s true? There’s a Base Star out there?”

“Looks like. But keep it to yourself for now, okay?”

“Well, do me a favor – from now on keep this thing in your boot.” She handed him the coin. “If I find anything loose in my cockpit again, I’ll put it someplace all right, and the insertion method will be _my_ boot – get me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“So where did it come from, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Umbra, yahrens ago.” Starbuck examined it – it seemed a little shiner. “Why?”

“I thought I recognized it – I double-checked the Pedia. It’s a token that was given out at the 6999 Caprican Exposition; that was the yahren the Mark IV Viper was launched. They gave out five thousand of them to local kids. It got you a tour and a chance to sit in the Viper. My da had one.”

“Huh. Five thousand…you’re not telling me it’s valuable?”

“Well, anything rare is valuable, but I don’t think you’re going to get a million cubits for it. The thing is, Starbuck, it _is_ one of the tokens – I lasered off a piece and ran a scan – it’s the right age and from Caprica – but it’s coated in some king of alloy. Totally unidentifiable. At some point a layer of…something…was bonded to it, and it’s incredibly thin. The Colonies didn’t have any kind of technology that could do this. You sure you don’t know where it came from?”

“No, I’ve always had it, since I can remember.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow at him. “I know!” Starbuck said. “Frack, Jenny, I didn’t even have the clothes they found me in when I got dumped at the orphanage. I must have picked it up somewhere.”

“Huh. Well.” She grinned and held out her hand for his fumerello, took a drag. “This has been a day, eh?”

“You’re right about that.” Starbuck yawned widely, and Jenny poked him in the shoulder.

“Get some sleep, Bucko. Can’t want to do this again tomorrow!”

At his locker, Starbuck found a message from Cassie asking him to meet him for a meal, but after a centon’s consideration he wadded it up and threw it away. The time she proposed had passed, and anyway all he wanted was his bunk, and – hopefully – some peaceful sleep. Maybe there’d be time to meet up before duty in the morning. If not, well, either they’d get around to sometime, or they wouldn’t. He couldn’t summon the mental energy to think about it.

*

He ran, barely dodging the Cylon blasts, from above, from all around him. There wasn’t any point in running, he knew that, but it didn’t stop him stumbling past the massive trunks with razor-sharp thorns, creepers growing miles into the sky, past the marching Cylons with their single red flashing eye, past Chameleon, past Apollo with a hole blown through him by Count Iblis….

“No!”

_It’s all right. I promise you, it’s all right. Have faith._

“No…’pollo!”

The blasts were coming closer together, they were merging into single, massive explosions of light and sound, and surrounding him, and roaring – drawing him in faster than a Viper in a launch tube.

_Have faith, Starbuck._

“No!” Those eyes, that _light_ , that all-encompassing _sound_ –

_“Starbuck!”_

“Oh, Gods!” Starbuck rolled over and jammed his fists into his eyes.

“You’re trying to win Most Popular Warrior of the Secton, aren’t you?” Boomer whispered.

For a long time all he could do was lay there and gasp.

“Bucko?”

“I’m okay,” he managed. “Lords of Kobol, Boomer.”

After a centon Boomer patted him on the shoulder. “Get some sleep.”

_Sure._

He lay there a while, finally looking over to the chrono on the wall. Frack. Almost exactly the middle of the sleep cycle. He knew he’d lay there for a centare or more before he fell asleep again, and he’d be groggier in the morning for it.

What he’d really like to do was catch a shuttle to the _Rising Star_ , get in a card game. That would relax him. In fact, that was probably what was wrong with him – since he’d had the recruit duty, he hadn’t had a chance to properly unwind. Off-centars with Cassie were just stressing him out more. Yah…Pyramid, some ambrosia, some laughs. He let the fantasy play out, imagining getting on the shuttle, the _Star_ filling the viewscreen on approach, the bar attendants, the flickering lights and smoke, the music…Chameleon was there too, but Starbuck politely escorted him back to the shuttle bay…. After a couple of centars, he’d come back to _Galactica_ and finish out the night with a centare or two of deep, restorative sleep.

He sighed. He was already in deep-enough felgar, any more and they’d need a turboshovel to dig him out.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The plan was to add two Vipers to each flight and increase the number of flights by two or three, depending on how many warriors were already into shift restriction. Apollo would fudge the regs but only so far, since chances were good there would be a major battle soon. Too many double shifts or short rest periods, or both, and combat effectiveness sank. The whole thing took centars to organize.

After the morning briefing Apollo sent out a skeleton picket and put everyone else on standown alert. Recruit training went ahead as scheduled – it wasn’t Starbuck’s finest centare. He dismissed his class early with an instruction to go to the Rejuv Center and run laps. The BOQ was packed since nearly all the squads were hanging around waiting for word to deploy, and the O.C. was still off-limits. Alert status meant no one could leave the _Galactica_ , but he was restless.

He went looking for Cass; her roommate told him she’d gone to the senior ship. Starbuck only hoped that had something to do with her job and not her weird attachment to Chameleon. Twice he’d arrived at a scheduled meal expecting only her and found the old man there too. On both occasions he’d excused himself as quickly as he could. Whatever was going on there, that was something he was trying hard not to think about.

Finally Starbuck wandered into family Q. He didn’t really expect Apollo to be home but when he’d gone by earlier, his office had been empty. Apollo’s door was open. He and Sheba and Bojay were huddled around his desk looking at something, so he kept going – but Apollo had seen him. “Hang on, Starbuck. We’re about done.”

“What’s this?” Starbuck came in and stood behind Apollo, eyeing the printed schematics spread across the desktop. It was a flight plan, but so complex it might as well be Gemonese knotting.

“There aren’t enough fuelers to cover everyone, we’re trying to figure out how we can double up on some of the flights.” Apollo sighed. “I was hoping we could convert a couple of the passenger shuttles to carry fuel, but it’s going to take too long.”

“We’re still going out today?”

Apollo looked at the chrono on the wall. “In a hundred and ten centons.”

Bojay gathered the papers. “I’ll key it in and let the squadrons know.”

“Thanks, Boj.”

After Bojay had gone Starbuck went into the service room and brewed a pot of java. He’d already been awake for centars and was about to begin an even longer patrol than yesterday’s. This after a night of little sleep. There probably wasn’t enough java in the fleet to keep him alert.

Apollo and Sheba were sitting together on the sofa when he came in with pot and three cups. “Where’s Boxey?”

“He’s staying with his friend Kylan until…until things settle down.” Apollo said. He took the java Starbuck poured for him with a brief smile. “Thanks. Going to be a while until we see our bunks again.”

“Thanks Starbuck.” Sheba blew over the rim of the cup and took a sip. “I know it’s not my place, Apollo, so tell me to mind my own business. But don’t you think you should spend some time with him before we go?”

Apollo rubbed his forehead and sighed. “He’s really upset. He knows something’s going on. I don’t want to make it worse. I want things to be as normal as possible for him, for as long as it can be.”

Sheba and Starbuck traded guarded looks. Both of them had spent their lives knowing they’d never have children. Apollo was different. Even back at the Academy, he’d always expected to have his career and his family, as his family always had done. In Starbuck’s opinion, that was taking on a lot. More than he was prepared to, anyway. It was lucky in some ways he’d been raised by the Colonial government – there were no family ties, or obligations, to consider. Or maybe it was a question of pullets and ovums. Even if he’d been orphaned, if he’d had extended family – maybe he still would have been just as single-minded, left them behind. Maybe that’s just who he was, why his longer-than-a-furlon relationships were so rare.

“Nothing’s going to happen today,” Sheba said. “It’s just recon.”

“I know, but.” Apollo looked into his cup. “If the Commander makes a fleet-wide announcement when we get back, that’s when I’ll sit down with him and try to explain. He’s really little,” Apollo said, sighing. “When I was his age, when Father would come home and talk about the war, it would be exciting, and distant. After he’d leave we’d go back to school and music lessons and nameday parties and…daggits and cycles at the beach. It’s so different for the little kids now. It’s all short rations and cramped quarters, sick people, constant alerts, death. Even if we do somehow leave the Cylons behind, what will be the effect of that? On the kind of adults they become, without having that safe place to think back on?”

“Kids are pretty adaptable,” Starbuck offered. “I mean, I didn’t have any of those things, and I ended up mostly functional.”

“You have your moments,” Sheba said, smiling.

“Sure, it has an effect, bad things that happen in your childhood. But Apollo, you didn’t make this. All anybody can do is make the best of the situation they’re in. No one could do better for Boxey. You know that.”

“I know. I don’t blame myself. By being the best warrior I can be, that’s a way to try and be the best father. But I just wonder, why does this have to happen to Boxey? To all the little kids in the fleet? To be born, spend a few yahrens in the fleet, never see the surface of a planet, and then die anyway?”

“Whoa, dark,” Starbuck muttered. “I need something stronger than java for _this_ conversation.”

“Apollo.” Sheba put down her cup and wrapped her hands around his. “We’ve seen evidence that there are greater forces out there, that they’re taking an interest in us, that we’ve survived for a reason and will _continue_ to survive. You, more than anyone else, know this.”

“You mean – John? The Ship of Lights beings?”

“I do,” Sheba said firmly. “I wasn’t the most spiritual person in the fleet, you know. My father, well, he isn’t quite the same as your father. He never went to temple on the _Pegasus_ , as far as I know. I never gave it much thought. But after what we’ve seen, it isn’t even a question of faith, or belief. There’s meaning in what we do, Apollo. Right now, things seem bad, but I’m certain there’s something to come from this.”

Apollo nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I know it. And I do…have faith. Belief. It’s just…hard to hang onto when I think about Boxey, how unfair all of this is to him. And I wonder why he has to suffer? All the kids, if there are benevolent beings out there, why do they allow them to suffer like this?”

“Little kids have always suffered, it’s not a new thing,” Sheba said, looking over at Starbuck.

“Right now, things are as bad as they’ve ever been,” Apollo said. “If we ever needed help, it’s now. Right now. Where are those Ship of Lights beings now?”

_In my dreams_ , Starbuck thought. And then he froze. The only reason they’d been alerted to the Base Ship, to the potential of more Base Ships, and in time to try and do anything about it was because he’d been careless in the cockpit and knocked himself off course. He’d been careless because he’d been at less-than-optimal alertness due to poor sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping because of his dreams. Which were recently featuring the Ship of Lights.

“Starbuck?” He came to himself to find both Apollo and Sheba looking at him curiously.

“Uh. Huh, I just had…a thought.”

After a centon Sheba grinned and said, teasingly, “Well, we do live in the age of wonders.”

“Oh, ha.” Starbuck put his cup down carefully. “Um, either of you, have you been…”. He trailed off. It was too ridiculous. If he fully articulated the thought they’d laugh him out of the Service and possibly have him committed to the psych ship. _So, here’s the thing. The Ship of Lights beings? The Gods, okay, decided to work Their Will through me by causing me to frack up, bang my head into my Viper controls._ Yah, he was very lucky he’d stopped himself before putting that out loud into the universe. “Uh—.”

“Oh, felgar.” Apollo looked down at his chrono. “Launch in ninety.”

All pilots had to be in the ready room for briefing fifty centons before launch. There wasn’t time for any more of this discussion even if Starbuck wanted to continue it. It would be tight just getting back and into flight gear. The three of them walked together, Sheba peeling off to the WOQ and Apollo into his office, no doubt to have a final private conversation with Command. In the last public corridor before entering restricted space were a few civilians huddling with warriors. Starbuck saw a couple of women with babies. He was kind of in agreement with Apollo’s darkest thoughts on that topic – why bring new lives into this? Even taking the best view, these children were going to have to bear privation and loss for their entire lives.

“Starbuck?”

He looked away from Greenbean holding a red-headed toddler. Cassiopeia was leaning against the corridor wall, slowly straightening as he approached. She smiled, and Starbuck was taken again at how beautiful she was. She really was, and it was the sweetness in her eyes that rocketed her into a whole different category. No one had ever looked at him like that, except maybe Apollo’s mother all those yahrens ago. Just, love. He felt regret for the distance of the past sectons, stepped close and took her in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” he said quietly. “I hate it when we fight.”

“We don’t fight, Starbuck. That’s our biggest problem.”

“I hate it when we don’t fight, then.” He felt her laugh, then still against him. The people around them began to disperse.

“Salik says there’s a Base Star out there,” she whispered.

It made sense the med staff would be alerted. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to engage?”  


“Not today, Gods willing.”

“’Gods willing’?” Cass pushed herself back a little, so she could see his face. She smiled bemusedly. “Becoming a believer in your old age?”

“Well, people change.”

“Speaking of that.” Starbuck let her go. He knew the tone, could predict the topic. “Starbuck, you have to talk to him.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“All right.” She capitulated, as always, leaned up to kiss him gently. “Someday, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

*

The patrol confirmed what they feared. The Base Star running parallel to starboard was still there. Another behind the fleet. No others they could detect, but no one doubted they were there, or soon would be.

After returning to the fleet, the warriors were told to stand down for twenty centars while Command and Science staff evaluated the logs. Starbuck went to Cassiopeia and, if he woke her with his dreams, she didn’t mention it.

*

Staff meeting was held in the large upper-level conference room; after, the Council would be coming in for their briefing. The long table held carafes of java and water, thick notebooks and G-screens, as well as – puzzlingly – various Cylon artifacts: several Centurion helmets and a torso, a targeting laser, what looked like a piece of navigational equipment from a Raider.

Tigh, standing at the front before the large screen, started off with a brief recap of what they’d learned about the two Base Stars shadowing their course. He then gave a deeply depressing rundown of fleet readiness and likely scenarios if they were attacked. Starbuck, chewing on an unlit fumarello and flipping through one of the notebooks, tried not to take in any more than he had to. It was only when Adama stood and moved to the head of the table that he looked up.

“Thank you, Colonel.” Adama placed his hand briefly on Tigh’s shoulder. “I think everyone can agree that we’re not in a position to take on two Base Stars at this time. The strategies that have served humanity a thousand yahrens will not serve us now. Now, we must attempt something that’s never been attempted before. Dr. Wilker,” he gestured for the scientist to join him. “Dr. Wilker has a theory, and a strategy, he’s been investigating for some time. I’d hoped we’d have an opportunity to continue to explore it, as well as consider the ethical implications, but clearly we’re in a situation where we no longer have the luxury of time. Most of you in this room have not been involved in this research – my own son, _Galactica’s_ Strike Captain, knows nothing of it.” Starbuck looked over at Apollo, who was sitting up very straight and frowning. “I apologize for the secrecy. As I said, we’d hoped to have more time to investigate but I must tell you, I see no alternative but to go forward. Dr. Wilker will brief you.”

Adama returned to his seat, and Wilker fiddled with the activator, finally turning on the main screen. The image that came up caused Starbuck to swallow his java wrong and choke – Boomer pounded him on the back and handed him a glass of water. Through eyes streaming from the exertion of holding in the coughing, Starback stared, astounded.

It was the IL Cylon they’d taken back during the battle at the Kitsap Nebula. It had been in one of the Raiders they’d captured more or less intact, though the hole blown through the ship had destroyed most of the interior and had blasted the Cylons into pieces. But when they’d brought the Raider into the landing bay, rumor was that what had fallen out had _bled_ onto the deck. Starbuck hadn’t been there, only Apollo from the Wing and of course he’d never said anything about it. Whatever it was, it had been hustled away to some secure lab and never officially mentioned. Honestly Starbuck had discounted the rumor – it sounded like something from a late night vid.

Now on screen it was shown in all its gory, HG glory, the IL casing cut away, leaving, unmistakably: organs, skeletal structure, brain. Brain! _Holy frack_.

“What _is_ that?” Sheba grabbed one of the G-screens where Wilker’s presentation was playing, stared at it, aghast. “That can’t be a Cylon, we’ve taken dozens of them apart, they’re mechanical, robotic.”

“Yes, the Centurions are largely robotic,” Wilker said calmly. “There is an organic component, however. This is significant for two reasons. First – keep in mind for millennia we didn’t recognize it, because all the Cylons we captured had been deactivated, killed, usually by high-energy blast. The remnant of the organic matter, which is minimal in the Centurion model, was mistaken for lubricant until recently. For example.” He moved to the Cylon torso sitting on the table top and lasered it neatly down the middle, motioned for an assistant to crank it open. He took his pointer and scraped inside, then wiped it on a tissue which he sealed into a clear bag and handed to Tigh. The colonel looked at it briefly, then passed it along. To Starbuck, when it came to him, it did look very much like lubricant – black and viscous.

“As you can see, this is hardly recognizable as living tissue. It’s organic, which we’ve known since the first Cylon was captured, but then many of our own lubrication chemicals come from an organic source, processed of course, often synthesized. It wasn’t until we captured a Command Cylon, and then later this IL, that we realized there was more to it. There is approximately .4 milimetron of this material in the typical Centurion, but nearly sixty times that in a Command model. The IL, as you can see, is some form of creature. The genetic makeup, the DNA of the creature is identical to this ‘lubricant’.”

He paused to let everyone digest that thought. “Now, we’ve long suspected that Imperious Leader is more than robot, but we jumped to the erroneous conclusion that this was unique. Our current thinking is that all Cylon technology – from Base Star to Raider to Centurion – has this organic component. Not a living creature that was born, but ‘living’ material that was most likely cloned. As we all know, the Cylon race was originally organic, bipedal…perhaps not entirely unlike ourselves. The physiological and technological ‘improvements’ they’ve made over the yahrens have resulted in a race of beings that _is_ primarily mechanical. But the organic remains – they contain organic material as part of their base structure. This is also why Cylons generally exist in an environment humans can breathe and survive in. They’re not doing it for our benefit, obviously, it must be necessary for their own survival.

“The IL model is, as far as we know, a new development, at least in the semi-autonomous form such as ‘Lucifer’. We’ve been theorizing for some time that the reason they’ve moved in this direction is the same reason they recruited Baltar, they recognized that the stalemate we’d been in for millennia could only be broken by changing the paradigm. A human brain, an organic brain, is the most powerful computer ever to exist. We believe the Cylon Empire, at some point, determined to take advantage of this fact, to integrate organic processing power into the new model of Cylon, the IL.”

Apollo asked: “What good does it do to know this? Whether it’s lubricant or some kind of – proto-IL, we still need to destroy it.”

“That’s the second thing.” Wilker switched the screen to display a wavelon schematic. “Another thing that all Cylon entities, communities, seem to have in common is a communication signal – a carrier wave – all Centurions, all Cylons, equipment, ships, tap into. And, apparently, re-broadcast. Of course we’ve detected it for hundreds of yahrens, but it’s never seemed to have ‘content’, as we understand it. Cryptographers have spent entire careers studying it, but it’s always been nothing more than background noise, to the best of our ability to comprehend.”

“What’s it for, then?” Sheba asked. “If it doesn’t broadcast data.”

“Exactly the question we’ve been asking ourselves. Now, once we began to explore the implications of the organic aspects of Cylon tech, we wondered about this carrier wave.” Wilker switched the display to some kind of microscopic life. “There are living creatures, for example magnetotactic bacteria, which exhibit what we call ‘magnetotaxis’ – their cellular structure contains particles of magnetite enclosed within a membrane composed of phospholipids and fatty acids containing between twenty and thirty proteins which cause each cell to act as a dipole, allowing them to orient themselves and migrate along a planet’s magnetic field…”. Wilker looked up and saw the look of bewilderment on the faces of everyone sitting at the command table. “Eh, well, in summary, there is precedent for living organisms having sensitivity to magnetic fields. Since the Cylon carrier wave did not appear to involve data transmission we asked ourselves – what other function could it serve? There must be one. Whenever we are in proximity to Cylons – and that proximity can be quite distant – we detect this signal, without exception, though it does become fainter the further we are from concentrated Cylon population.

“The breakthrough came with Baltar’s Raider, fully operational. We were able to monitor the organic material in it, at the same time we were monitoring the strength of the received carrier wave. We noticed that, as the wave lost strength, there were definite signs of degradation in the Raider’s organic makeup. Subtle, but statistically significant.

“Five quatrons ago, we encountered a Cylon station, you’ll recall, in the Firtel system. The Cylon signal apparently was boosted and broadcast from there. When the signal increased in strength, the organic material in the Raider ‘recovered’. At that time, with the permission of Commander Adama, we isolated it in a dampening field, blocking the signal. The result was that the ship ‘died’. We later unscrambled the field, allowing the ship to again receive the carrier wave, and the ship did not recover. The organic component was apparently permanently destroyed when it went too long in isolation.”

There was a shocked silence around the table. Boomer asked: “Are you saying this would work for centurions?”

“For Centurions, Raiders, Base Stars.”

“That’s…insane,” Apollo said. “If that’s a vulnerability built in…why would they make themselves vulnerable to something as simple as a scrambled signal?”

“It isn’t simple, and interfering with the signal doesn’t render the Cylon non-functional. The Raider was still flyable. It just wasn’t as responsive, and was more prone to faults. Now, we also believe that this may be something relatively new. In the early yahrens of the war, it wasn’t necessary for the Cylons to resort to this sort of, well, creativity. If you can use that term to describe them…. They just overwhelmed human forces with their superior numbers. It wasn’t until much later, recently in fact, that we theorize they began to realize final victory would require something more than sending millions of primitive machines against us. The ILs have only shown up with the degree of autonomy of a Lucifer very recently. _Why_ they made this change after so long…well, that’s an interesting question. Now, we can’t say we understand the mechanism, how the carrier wave and the organic material interact; all we can do is observe and make predictions.”

“Could we scramble the signal during battles? And if we could, what would be the result?” That was Omega asking, Starbuck noted, returning them to the point of the meeting. The least excitable man in the fleet. Pretty much everyone else at the table had the same gobsmaked look on their face.

“We don’t have the ability to disrupt this signal from the _Galactica_ , or obviously, enclose a Base Star in a dampening field. If we could…well, we theorize, it would be much easier to defeat Cylons in battle. The Command Cylons would be even more affected, given they contain more of the organic component, presumably reliant on it in some way. We’d have to have a ‘live’ Cylon to test what happens when we ‘kill’ it. All we can do is theorize, and given circumstances, we believe it’s time to put theories into practice.”

“If we can’t do it from the _Galactica_ , how can we do it?” Apollo asked.

“We need to get closer to a powerful transmitter of the signal. Our best chance would be to get on one of those Base Stars, and broadcast through its systems. We’ve calculated a sort of resonance wave that would counter and nullify the existing signal. With enough of an initial boost from a cleared channel from a trusted sender, we believe an altered signal would be accepted and re-transmitted to all Cylon systems – a warning couldn’t outpace it.” Wilker paused and looked around the table, making eye contact with everyone. “Once we initiate it, that would be the end of it.”

“What do you mean, ‘the end’? You mean all of the organic…material? The ILs? Imperious Leader?” Apollo demanded.

“Yes, Captain, that is what we believe. All Cylon systems, all the way back to their home planet. Of course, there’s no way to know with certainty the effect on an IL. The anatomy suggests it is more of a self-sustaining being than…this.” Wilker held up the bag containing the soiled tissue. “But there would most definitely be some impact. Possibly even more, since there are fewer robotic components to compensate.”

“There are moral implications to this,” Adama said. “If it works as Dr. Wilker and his team believe it will, it could potentially be genocidal. When I meet with the Council later, I fully expect them to raise the issue. However, this group can consider it as a purely military exercise.”

“We have to get on one of those Base Stars.” Tigh said. “And we have to insert this, ‘kill switch’, into the Cylon signal.”

“We’ve broken in before,” Apollo said. “We know our way around. Then what?”

Wilker said: “I can give you a transmitter. It wouldn’t be large, we’re hoping to be able to fabricate enough to issue to every warrior. Once inside the Base Star, you’d have to find a primary transmission node, and then all you’d have to do is activate the device. It would overwrite the existing signal in favor of the disruptor signal. But it must be done from inside.”

“How would it be powered?” Tigh asked.

“Controlled fission – it would be very powerful but short-lived.”

“Would it be safe for the person carrying it?”

“Completely, until activated. After that, well. There would be significant radiation exposure. Possibly survivable, if treated quickly enough. But obviously, this is a mission that would be, I mean, clearly –.”

“All right,” Tigh said. “I think we all know you mean.”

Apollo mused, “The last time we got on a Base Star was in a Cylon ship. We don’t have one we can fly, right? The Raider isn’t functional?”

“It’s functional, as I said. But unreliable. I’ve had techs working on it around the chrono ever since we became aware of the current emergency. They think they’re a sectare away."

“I’m not sure we have that long,” Tigh said. “We may have to mount a more straightforward attack.”

“Hopefully we’ll have a sectare, or more,” Adama said. “But we have to prepare for all eventualities. Anything else? It seems clear to me that this is our only option, despite the unanswered questions. What we need to do is prepare to implement as soon as humanly possible. Dr. Wilker, you’re authorized to requisition whatever you need in order to produce the signal units. Colonel, Captain, after the Council meeting let’s schedule a session to begin planning an assault on one of the Base Stars. Dr. Wilker, you and your team can get back to your work.”

After the technical people had filed out, and Omega and the Ops crew also left, the warriors spent a few centons thinking aloud.

“It’ll be tricky,” Bojay said. “We can’t destroy the Base Star, we just have to get in past its defenses.”

“And we don’t know what else they might have out there – we only picked up the Base Star signatures,” Boomer pointed out.

“Assuming this works, and all Cylons are affected, what then?” Sheba asked. “Do we turn around and go back to the Colonies, wipe them out? All the way to the Cylon home world?”

“I’m on board that mission,” Boomer said. “Commander, do you really think the Councilors will have an issue with this?”

“I think some on the Council will disapprove of anything the military proposes. In this regard, I confess I myself have some discomfort at the thought. Not…misgivings. We’re left without alternative. But to be the agent of destruction of an entire race…well, I wouldn’t want to be someone who could do such a thing without turning a hair.”

“There are civilian Cylons, allegedly,” Tigh said.

“I don’t remember Cylons making that distinction,” Starbuck muttered.

“No, that’s true enough.” Adama sighed. “In my view we have no other option, though I’d rather that statement didn’t leave this room. Perhaps…perhaps there is something of the Gods in this. Whatever caused the change in the Cylon Empire, they’ve made themselves vulnerable in a way they weren’t before.”

“Right,” Bojay said. “Baltar, this organic…update – they’re trying to change the rules. A human can outfly any Centurion, we’ve just always been outnumbered, beaten by their ability to re-tool and manufacture Centurions faster than we can train warriors. Even so, we’ve always been able to hold our own…until they switched strategies.”

“And that may be the Ardath’s heel that allows us to defeat them,” Apollo said, wonderingly.

Adama motioned to Tigh, who went to a cupboard and brought out a squat green bottle with faded gold paper. Starbuck’s eyes opened wide – that was three hundred yahren old Ambrosia. Tigh uncorked it and poured out a small amount, no more than a sampling, into tiny glasses and passed them around. Adama stood and raised his glass. “Whatever happens, I am proud to be in this room in this company. I suspect we’ll not have a great deal of free time in the next sectars, but it is my fervent prayer and we’ll all be together again, on the other side of this undertaking. And at that time, we’ll share the rest of this.” He drained his glass and set it down, as did the rest of the warriors, but Starbuck paused and brought it to his face, inhaling the pungent fumes.

The room was filled with excited chatter, chiefly of the ‘when this war is over’ flavor. He’d heard plenty of that, over the yahrens, and here they still were. Wilker’s plan was intriguing, and bold and – if it succeeded – transformative. But getting onto a Base Star, with or without an operational Raider, would be a near-impossibility. And even if you could, you’d still be on a battleship containing tens of thousands of armed Centurions. He took a sip of the liquor and let it sit on his tongue. As a betting person, he wouldn’t lay down a shaved cubit on their succeeding. But.

_Have faith_ , something had been telling him, for nearly a quatron.

Faith they’d survive this current crisis? Or faith that they could actually, for once and all, destroy the Cylon Empire? He noticed Boomer looking at him curiously. He raised his glass briefly, and finished the liquor.

He could fly his Viper, and he could drink this Ambrosia. Anything else was above his pay grade.

 


	4. Chapter 4

BY YOUR COMMAND

“Yes?” Lucifer asked, irritably. It was his current favorite expression. Difficult to bring off – irritated – not angry. Completely lost on the Centurion of course.

BASE STAR 7YGG REPORTED LOST IN SECTOR 10 ALPHA

“Destroyed? Does the report state how it was lost?”

NEGATIVE

“Have there been sightings of the _Pegasus_ in the area?”

NEGATIVE

Lucifer counted to 500000 then asked: “Have there been reports of energy emissions within the range expected of a Colonial Battlestar Sector 10 Alpha?”

AFFIRMATIVE

“Thank you, Centurion. You may go.” The Centurion did not move. “Dismissed, Centurion. _Leave_.” When he was alone, Lucifer glided – irritably – to the command console, and checked the latest flashfeed. As expected, all the data was there, but there was no useful summary or conclusion. He wished he could sigh, or roll his eyes as he’d seen Colonial Warriors do. Baltar had exhibited a fascinating array of facial movements. Sadly his own vocoder was entirely electronic and his eye-analogs fixed. He could perform a manner of a blink, or change eye color, but this did not seem to produce the desired effect. At least, not that he had observed in his limited interaction with humans. Colonial Warriors were generally not inclined to extended conversations with him. Baltar had seemed amused by his efforts and his current human colleague, Dr. Bête…Lucifer hadn’t decided yet what he thought of Dr. Bête. _His_ eyes were human-appearing, but sometimes Lucifer caught a shimmer of something not-human, in upper frequencies. He was however unable to confirm this observation via proper scientific method.

In any case the _Pegasus_ was apparently far from here, despite Command’s inability to make the connection. Lucifer knew that once the data reached the homeworld and the IL class had an opportunity to evaluate, a revised report would issue. Yahrens ago, he might have decided to update the feed himself. These cycles he had more interesting things to do. The _Galactica_ , for example. Almost within reach, the _Galactica_ and the entire fleet of humans. Once the third and, ideally, fourth Base Star arrived, the end for this particular subset of humanity would be anticlimactic. While it was taking a little longer than he’d anticipated this gave him an opportunity to explore Dr. Bête’s much more intriguing ideas.

As he traveled down to the hanger and boarded the shuttle, Lucifer entertained himself by recalling every micron of his first meeting with Dr. Bête. Even then, he’d experienced what he would characterize as “unsettled feelings” about him. Really, it was a conflict between what his sensory inputs reported and the Cylon database of human behavior, as modified by his own personal interactions with specimen humans. (Given the length of time the Cylons had been engaged in hostilities with humans, it seemed to Lucifer more effort could be made to update.) Human behavior had a very wide range, but Dr. Bête seemed to exist well outside it.

For one thing, he was not afraid of Lucifer. Even with the humans who pretended to have no fear – Lucifer’s sensory receivers were calibrated finely enough to identify bravado. With Dr. Bête it was not an act. He seemed genuinely unafraid and even amused by Lucifer, and dismissive of the might of the Cylon Empire. He also seemed entirely comfortable in the company of Cylons. Baltar, the other human Lucifer had had the opportunity to observe for long stretches of time, had eventually been driven nearly mad by the absence of other humans.

The manner of their discovery of Bête was also exceedingly strange. The moon he had been found on did not contain the proper environment for human life, except for the small area where he and his crashed ship were found. True, there _were_ underground pockets of ice which leached gases to the surface, where a peculiar atmosphere _could_ be reasonably believed to have formed. It seemed very unlikely he would crash in the exact location where life could be sustained, however, and certainly he could not have survived long. And yet, there he was.

His ideas were extremely interesting, despite the questions he never quite answered. If he could see it through, Lucifer would be in a position to remake reality to his liking. Which was a delightful prospect. If he didn’t, there was little downside. The human’s experiments used a great deal of energy but otherwise were not resource-intensive. The ship he was using for a lab was a made-over troop carrier that had little utility given the current state of the war. It seemed impossible that such a primitive laboratory could result in something so grand – removing the bounds of linear time! And yet this was what Bête promised, and so far he had produced results that while they were modest, were unambiguous.

What Lucifer initially thought to do, in his imaginings, was return to Cimtar and ensure that neither the _Galactica_ nor the _Pegasus_ survived, ending this ridiculous trek across the universe before it began. But he was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t too humble a goal. Perhaps he could return to a thousand yahrens ago, and insert himself into the robes of Imperious Leader. After all, with his datastore, he could easily direct the war in such a way as to end it within a quatron. He would inevitably do a better job, and what had Imperious Leader done that warranted his position above the ILs? Wasted resources of a thousand yahrens.

Disturbingly, the first time this thought came to him he was with Dr. Bête, and the human had laughed aloud. Lucifer had demanded an explanation, and Bête had placated him with some irrelevant story. Of course Lucifer knew that “mind reading” was not something humans were capable of, much less the remote reading of an IL brain. On numerous occasions he’d had to remind himself of this.

*

As usual Dr. Bête was in his lab checking his experiments. He greeted Lucifer effusively, and directed him to a monitor displaying isotope decay studies. “As you can see,” Dr. Bête said, “There is a .07 percent variance compared to the control. This is consistent with previous tests.”

Lucifer studied the readings closely. The decay measured against the energy used fell exactly in the predicted range. Unfortunately the very steep rate of energy use against output was also remaining steady. “I see. I am concerned that the energy required to power a meaningful test exceeds any material we have available.”

Dr. Bête smiled. “Yes, that is a challenge. However, I have a solution.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, Lucifer. The detonation of the charged energy core of a Colonial Battlestar.”

“I see.” Lucifer performed a remote scan of the monitoring equipment and found no alterations, nothing that would allow Dr. Bête to pick up external signals. “Of course, there _are_ no Colonial Battlestars.”

“None? Perhaps I misspoke. What I mean to say is, the detonation of a charged energy core of a size roughly equivalent to a core from a Colonial Battlestar. Do you know where we might locate such a thing?”

“If such a thing could be located, tell me – how would you propose harnessing energy from a denotation event?”

“Ah, that is my secret, my friend.”

“Your secret appears to violate the laws of physics.”

“I’ve never been very law-abiding.”

Bête smiled widely, in the manner that usually followed a joke. Lucifer worked through it – it was a play on the different meanings of the word “law”, and alluding to this human’s status outside human civilization, collaborating with their ancient enemy. Lucifer had been working on a ‘laugh’, but the reaction of captive humans had been decidedly mixed. Something warned him against demonstrating it to Bête. Instead he flashed a ‘disapproval’ sequence in his cranial lights, which was an approximation of the way humans, in his observation, sometimes chided each other for unsuccessful attempts at humor. It was all very complicated, but that was why Lucifer was so fascinated. Human behavior never failed to confound.

In response, Bête’s smile widened, but then he sobered and turned to another console. “As you can see here, I’ve modeled a method for capturing energy from an explosion. It’s really very simple. At its base a nuclear explosion converts the stored energy from a nucleus into explosive energy. My method, in a way, reverses the process, storing the captured energy into a configuration optimized for use in my process. The trick is maintaining stability in the reaction long enough to capture and transfer it.”

Lucifer reviewed the available literature of millennia on the topic and found nothing that absolutely contradicted the theoretical possibility of what Bête proposed, although there seemed to be insurmountable technical challenges.

“Very well,” Lucifer said. “Let us assume that your process could in some manner capture the released energy of a core explosion, from something of the size of a Battlestar. According to my calculation, this would provide energy six quatrillion times that used in the test you just performed, which barely impacted isotope decay. What would be the result?”

“I believe that we could return the Base Star to a time perhaps 200 yahrens in the past.”

“Two hundred yahrens.” This was not one of Lucifer’s favorite epochs in the war. The Colonials of that era were more aggressive and spread widely through Cylon space. Even in a modern Base Star there would be significant danger traveling all that distance back to the Homeworld.

“What other sources of power might be stronger?”

“My dear Lucifer, only a base star has more energy! And of course we could not destroy your fine vessel.”

“No.” Lucifer said sternly. “We could not. But, so that I understand what you are proposing, it would require the equivalent energy from the cores of as many as five Colonial Battlestars to travel back a thousand yahrens?” Bête nodded and began programming revised data into his program, but Lucifer had moved on to logistics. “It could be done in stages, two hundred yahrens, locate another power source in that time, another jump back. Hm.”

He considered periods in the historical record going back 200 yahrens, where multiple Battlestars were in relatively close proximity, with a fleet of Cylons nearby. Aggravatingly, the best opportunity was 120 yahrens back; two Battlestars suffering severe damage, a third in the next system, unfortunately the _Galactica_ was one of them. According to Dr. Bête’s theories, if they were to destroy the _Galactica_ in the present day in order to power a time jump of 200 yahrens, or 120, and they destroyed it in the past – it would not be available in the future/present, meaning the jump could not have happened. Lucifer had no difficulty following the paradox for a million cycles but was not able to find an exit.

The next best opportunity was 85 yahrens in the past. Three Battlestars, one of which had a hull breach. Two additional Battlestars, as well as several destroyers, were nearby taking on the crew and ships assigned to the damaged vessel. Only one Base Star was close enough to provide assistance, although Lucifer assumed they would be able to go back further in order to arrange for additional support to be at the designated time and place…but that might cause alterations to subsequent events, leading to other differences at the chosen nexus. There were many variables to consider. Lucifer was pleased at the opportunity to exercise his processors.

But before finalizing a strategy, there would have to be a meaningful test of the technology, something more than isotope decay.

“I think the time has come for your demonstration to move out of the laboratory. Specifically, the mechanism of the energy capture you have asserted. What will be required?”

“Well,” Dr. Bête straightened and seemed to consider his answer. But then he smiled broadly. “You have anticipated me. I require a ring of satellites of a particular construction. As it happens, I have prepared an inventory of materials and fabrication support.”

“Why does this not surprise me?”

“Perhaps, my dear Lucifer, it is because you have succumbed to a very human frailty. Cynicism.”

“Hm.”

*

Three cycles later Lucifer sat beside Dr. Bête in a converted Raider, as a complex web of devices were moved into place around a barge containing two surplus multipurpose energy cores from the Carrier, linked together with one removed from a scrapped Raider unit. It was a reasonable expenditure of matériel to test Bête’s theories, in Lucifer’s considered opinion, however it was very likely Command would order him to halt were they learn of it. To date, he had been careful to provide them the least amount of data he could get away with. Command allowed him some leeway given his successes, but even if he managed to follow through on destruction of the human fleet he would still be held to account for disobeying orders. On the homeworld, there was little support for the academic study of humans that Lucifer had devoted Cylon assets to.

Bête seemed to be in a hurry to conduct his demonstration, fortunately, so here they were ready in a suspiciously short amount of time, considering the complexity of the project. The only way Lucifer perceived Bête could have made it happen so quickly was if he had already done much of the work before Lucifer authorized it. This was implausible, as Bête’s activities were monitored at all times. Lucifer decided not to pursue the inconsistency. Whatever mischief Bête might be up to, he was a closely-guarded single human with access only to locked-down computer systems.

Lucifer was entirely agreeable to a short timeline. The additional Basestars would arrive within two sectars, if all went as expected. He would have no justification for further delaying implementation of the official Cylon strategy of total destruction. The _Galactica_ had an important role in his own plans, which it could not play if it were destroyed.

“Countdown commencing,” Bête said. Outside, the Basestar and other ships, including the troop carrier, retreated to the designated safe distance. Bête turned to Lucifer and smiled, displaying his unsettling teeth. “Are you ready?”

“Get on with it.” Lucifer instructed.

“Very well. I’m setting the control to return us to thirty microns in the past. We could go further, of course, but there is no need – a short time should be sufficient to prove the theory. I’m also adjusting our location.” Bête spent several centons keying instructions into the control unit, and then at last sat back.  

Lucifer was looking directly at Bête when the universe detonated outside the Raider, and in that micron he saw something, something he could not begin to identify or categorize, sitting in the seat. Most assuredly, not human. Then his circuits jolted as if he’d plugged directly into a runaway reactor. He barely had control enough to engage his safety restart protocol.

He came online to Dr. Bête’s face, disturbingly close to his own. “Ah, you’re back. Just in time.”

Lucifer examined his sensor record. “The explosion was at least ten magnitudes greater than should have been possible with the energy input provided. Explain.”

Bête shook his head. “Everything went exactly as predicted. It may be that the hull of the Raider transmitted some of the energy directly to your electronics. We may have to retrofit the Basestar with insulating material. In fact, you can see for yourself.” Bête moved back, and Lucifer looked out the viewscreen. He had time enough to observe that they were now at least four times further back from the barge as they had been, that it was intact, and that a Raider was hovering in their former location – and the barge exploded in a massive fireball but one, according to his instant calculations, precisely of the intensity as expected. A purplish-hued bolt of energy shot outward and connected with the Raider…and it was gone.

*

Umbra burned. The stench of death, everywhere.

He couldn’t run anymore. The terrible ship in the sky – it wasn’t like anything ever, Papa had showed him how to recognize the Cylons and what to do but this wasn’t like those! But it chased after him and shot terrible fire down into the forest. It was dark now and his shoe was gone, and he wanted her! Why didn’t she come?

The blasts were very close now and he couldn’t run. He curled into a tight roll on the wet cold ground and cried for her, over and over.

_Starbuck._

He looked up and saw a man, he knew him and he didn’t know him. He was wearing white and had white hair. Starbuck was standing somehow, despite the violent winds and the brush and debris slamming into him, the fearful noise – and the man held out his hand. There was something in it, shiny.

_Have faith, Starbuck._

He reached for the man’s hand. In the distance he could hear a terrible sound, a roaring, a grinding. It tasted bitter and felt like despair. Whatever it was it was close now and would take him…but he reached for the shiny thing in the man’s hand, and everything dissolved into blazing, silent light.

*

The morning briefing was delayed for almost a centare. Initially the Warriors chatted and kidded around, but as time dragged on, everyone began to get a sense that something serious was heading their way. “Serious” only ever meant “bad”. Boomer came and sat down next to him. Gradually the entire room became still, so that when Apollo and Bojay strode in at last everyone jumped like a nervous felix.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Apollo said, striding to the front screen and switching it on. “Here’s the situation. We’ve detected something, a significant explosion, in the vicinity of the Base Star trailing the fleet.”

“Could it have been the Base Star, somehow?” Giles asked.

“Ops says not. But, it’s something, something has changed. The energy signature is unlike anything in the records.” Apollo seemed to recognize he was talking out of turn. He closed his eyes a micron then surveyed the room. “Plainly stated…it may be that the Cylons are in the beginning stages of initiating attack. Everyone is on Condition One Alert. We’re sending Yellow out to starboard to see if we can get a read on the other Base Star, confirm it’s maintaining its relative position. The rest of you, you have two centars to…to do whatever you need to do, without leaving the flight or habitation decks. At 1100, we’ll be launching in force. Yellow, five centons in the Ready Room. The rest of you, dismissed.”

Starbuck tried to catch Apollo’s eye, but he and Bojay were out the door as quickly as they’d come in.  

“Well,” Boomer said softly. “I don’t suppose we’re going to be issued suicide bombs in the next two centars.”

“Frak.”

They sat there in silence, allowing the other warriors to stream out. “You going to go see Cass?”

Starbuck thought about it. She’d be in the middle of her sleep cycle right now, unless she’d been called to duty. The last time they’d been together, they’d said the things they needed to say. If he only had two centars, there was something else he needed to do.

*

Everyone was in their customary position, nothing was out of place. But the tension was tangible.

“Something you need, Lieutenant?”

“I wonder if the Commander is available?” Starbuck hadn’t heard Tigh come up behind him, but then he never did.  

“You want to speak to the Commander? What about?”

“Uh…it’s kind of personal, Colonel.”

Tigh’s eyebrows rose. “I think the Commander is a little busy to deal with personal issues right now.”

“I know, I just…need a couple of centons.” Starbuck lowered his voice. “It’s about the Ship of Lights. I really need to talk to him, if there’s any way.”

Tigh stared at him, stone-faced. “Aren’t warriors restricted to the flight deck?”

“I won’t keep him long.”

Another half-centon under that intense glare, a curt “wait here”, and a few centons later he was ushered into the Commander’s presence.

Adama sat at his desk, surrounded by schematics and reports, He looked awful – aged and exhausted. Immediately Starbuck changed his mind. “I’m sorry, sir, you’re busy. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” He turned to leave, but Adama called him back.  

“No, have a seat, Starbuck. I could use a break, to tell you the truth.” Most of the time Adama seemed unfazed by what the universe threw at him. His faith in the Lords of Kobol, in the gods of their ancestors, kept him going – at least, that was Apollo’s belief. Once during a late night conversation, when Apollo had a bit more grog in him than he was used to, he confessed to Starbuck that he felt himself unable to measure up to his father.

“I couldn’t do what he does,” Apollo had said.

“You never know what you can do until you have to do it,” Starbuck had offered.

Now as he sat, Starbuck noticed a small metal device on Adama’s desk. “Is that one of the signal amplifiers?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s the prototype. Dr. Wilker’s satisfied, he’s started production. We were hoping to give them out to all warriors, probably within the next cycle or two.”

“May I?”

“Of course.”

Starbuck lifted the device gingerly. It was about the size of a largish pack of Pyramid cards, heavy and cool. A panel had been welded to one side with the control – a simple activation switch. On the other side was an etched symbol, highly stylized. It looked familiar, though he couldn’t immediately place it.

“The casing -- that’s a piece of scrap – Wilker thinks it may have been part of an antique computer system. He used it because it was about the right size – the fabricated units will be a bit smaller.”

“Hard to think that something you can hold in your hand might, well…”. Starbuck trailed off.

“I know,” Adama agreed softly.

 _I couldn’t do what he does_ , Apollo had said. Starbuck knew Apollo had been referring to the politics, the compromise, the careful maneuvering necessary to manage both a massive military campaign and a volatile domestic situation. But Apollo could – had – sent warriors to their deaths, as Adama was preparing to do now. Starbuck knew that it wasn’t in him to do the same. And he couldn’t bear to add to Adama’s burden. He started to rise.

“Sir, I’m sorry – this was a bad idea. I should –“.

“Colonel Tigh said you wanted to speak to me about the Ship of Lights. The beings on it?”

There was almost a hunger in Adama’s expression, an ache to have someone else, someone who had met them, talked with them – confirm him in his choices and decisions. Each one so fraught…. Even Adama needed something to lean against.

_Have faith._

Starbuck braced himself. “The thing is, Commander…you know I don’t generally have a lot of…I don’t take a lot of things on, uh, faith. I’m not – I’ve never been, well, religious. In the sense of going to Temple and…. I’ve never really gone in for all that …stuff.” _All that felgercarb._ Starbuck felt like an idiot. He kept his eyes down, on the amplifier he held in one hand. “But…there are things out there…things that maybe we don’t fully understand. I accept that.”

“Of course. A rational man can do nothing less,” Adama said gently. “Starbuck, do you feel…. Did you want to discuss your faith with me? You know, I believe there’s nothing more important, but right at the moment –”.  

“No! I’m…well, in a way, I suppose…”. Starbuck drew in a deep breath. “The thing is, Commander – and please tell me if you think I’m crazy – the thing is, lately, I’ve kind of wondered if John is communicating with me.”

“You’ve seen him? Spoken with him?” Adama’s voice was sharp, and Starbuck found the courage to meet his eyes. All remnants of age, of weariness, were gone – the gaze was intense.

“Not exactly. I’ve been having these dreams. But they feel like…more than dreams.”

Adama sat back in his chair. “In what way? What kind of dreams?”

“It’s all mixed up with…well, nightmares I’ve kind of had all my life. On Caprica, when my home was destroyed. But I keep seeing John, and he keeps telling me to trust him, to go with him…and then there’s this bright light, exactly like when we encountered the Ship of Lights. I never dreamed about that before, and now it’s just…all the time. Every time I close my eyes. And it doesn’t seem like a dream…it seems like he’s trying to, well, communicate with me.” Starbuck sighed. “I suppose this sounds more like something I should be going over with a counselor.”

“Tell me…why do you perceive this as an attempt at communication, rather than just a dream?”

“It’s the quality of it. The rest of the dream, it’s like every other dream, or nightmare…all kind of confused and weird and off-kilter. You know how things in a dream are all…about you? But then it just suddenly gets crystal-clear and I’d swear by the Lords of Kobol he was talking to me. He’s a separate entity just inside my dream. I don’t know how better to explain it. There’s nothing fuzzy or strange about him.” _Except everything._ “And it keeps happening, every night.” No point mentioning the other parts of the dream – for example Apollo with a hole blown through him. The face of Count Iblis morphing into something unspeakable.

Adama said consideringly, “Dreams might be a way to communicate. Is John…telling you to do something? Giving you instructions?”

“No, just to trust him, to go with him.” Screwing up his courage. “To have faith. That’s what he keeps saying to me, ‘have faith’.”

Adama gaze wandered to some inner place. “Has Apollo, or Sheba, had a similar experience?”

“I don’t think so, Sir.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sir, I just…I just feel like I should understand this. If he is trying to tell me something, I guess I’m just too dense to be getting it.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Adama said. “I think perhaps you’ve grasped the point, Starbuck. To have faith.”

“But faith in what?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Starbuck, I don’t know what these dreams mean. But I agree with you; I think they are more than dreams. Perhaps he comes at this time because of the crisis we’re in, to give us hope. It may be that at some point in the future, you may be called upon to put your faith in him, or in yourself.”

“But why me?” Starbuck asked quietly.

“I don’t know that either. It may be your experiences with John in the past have made you…more receptive. It may be –“.  

Something at Adama’s desk began beeping. Starbuck stood. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Commander.” He started to put the amplifier device down on the table, but hesitated. He finally recognized the symbol engraved on the casing – it was the same as on his lucky coin. Not the Viper, but the abstract design. And he knew what it was now, finally. “Is this one of the units you’re going to be handing out?”

“Yes – it’s completely operational.”

“Maybe…maybe I should take this one with me. You know, just in case.” Starbuck couldn’t quite meet Adama’s eyes. “I mean, it’s not doing any good laying around here another cycle, is it?”

The silence was terrible, broken only when Tigh’s voice came over the intercom. “Commander – we need you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Adama said. He stood before Starbuck and reached out, gently touched his shoulder. “Starbuck, I wish I had answers for you. The only thing I can tell you is that I believe John has our interests to heart. If he’s telling you to have faith, to trust him – then I think that’s what you should do. I also think…when the time comes, you’ll understand.”

*

  

 


End file.
